


Life Underground

by ussnicole



Category: The Amity Affliction
Genre: After death, Afterlife, Amity Affliction, Death, Don't Kill Yourself, Gen, Grief, Guilt, Hanging, High School, Life Underground, Mourning, Music, Regret, Song fic, Suicide, lyrics, please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 12:46:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11380482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ussnicole/pseuds/ussnicole
Summary: Maybe death doesn't live up to everyone's expectations.





	1. A Bridge, A Rope, A Fall

It's cold here, standing on the bridge spanning over the river by my house. It's early morning, and the sky is just beginning to streak with red and pink as the sun comes up. When I left home, it was just past three, but it took me at least a half hour to find everything I would need and come here.

As I sit on the edge of the bridge, tying knots in the rope I had been keeping in the garage, I have an opportunity to think about my life. I'm only sixteen, but I feel like it's been long enough. I'm ready to find out what happens on the other side. At least boy scouts taught me something, because these knots are easy, almost therapeutic. Almost.

I think it's around four in the morning when I finish tying everything and tug at the length of rope I secured to the metal rail of the bridge. I've jumped to the water enough as a kid to know that the fall alone won't kill me, but the noose I've been perfecting for the past few minutes will. I also know that the bars will hold my weight; I'm not the first person to hang himself from here, and I know I won't be the last.

A car comes down the road and I stand up, concealing the rope and leaning against the railing nonchalantly. Whoever it is either doesn't notice me or doesn't care; I'm willing to bet it's the latter.

It's time. The sky is getting far too light for me to wait any longer, and I'm not quite sure why I've waited this long. It's not like anything is keeping me here; my parents are far too busy and worried about how we'll make ends meet from month to month, and my sister won't miss me terribly. We don't get along very well and she's better than me at practically everything, even if she's a year younger. They'll all be happier without me getting in the way.

I pull the loop around my neck, securing it behind me and taking a deep breath. I'm not scared of dying; I'm just not looking forward to the pain. I'm allowed to dislike pain, aren't I? I take one more deep breath and climb over the railing, making sure no cars are coming before I stand on the narrow ledge, holding onto the cold metal behind me and making sure the rope isn't tangled. All systems go, I think to myself wryly. I'm about to die, I might as well laugh about it a little.

One more second of hesitation, then I'm falling, and the last thing I see is the water rushing towards me and then...

I wake up. In my bed, in my room, in my house, like nothing ever happened. I guess I was dreaming? I check my phone – or try to, because I can't seem to pick it up. I must still be tired because my fingers seem to be passing straight through it. I shake my head and lay back down.

About an hour later my mom comes in to wake me up. It's weird though, because she opens my door, looks straight at me, and then gasps and turns away, yelling for Dad. I hear them say something about me being missing, which is weird because Mom stared  _ straight at me _ . I follow their voices to the garage, where they are frantically getting in the car.

"Mom? Dad? I'm right here," I say, but they ignore me. I sigh, and then get into the back seat of the car. I must be half asleep still, because I swear I go right through the door. I probably opened the door and forgot about it.

We spend a pointless ten minutes driving around town. I get alarmed when Dad calls the cops, and even more alarmed when we start racing over to the bridge where I had my dream. They jump out of the car and run to the middle, and I follow. They are still ignoring me, so I start yelling at them.

"MOM! DAD! LISTEN TO ME!"

_ Don't waste your voice, kid _ . I hear a voice in my head, swiveling around in confusion as a man walks up to me with a sad smile on his face.  _ Go ahead; try talking without your voice. You'll understand soon. _

_ I... I don't get it. What's going on? _

He shakes his head and I look back to where my parents are clutching each other and crying. Sirens are wailing and police cars are here, and everyone is rushing around and looking grim. It's just past seven in the morning and it's a beautiful day, but down here with all the commotion the world looks bleak and gray. There's a group of people crowded around the bridge edge, and I walk over curiously.

To my surprise, there is a rope tied to the railing right where I remember tying it in my dream. I get a bad feeling in my stomach as I lean over to see where the rope goes, and that's when I see it – well, me. What was me. I'm hanging, suspended over the water and looking rather serene, if I do say so myself. My mouth is open, which isn't really flattering, but I'm dead so you've got to cut me some slack.

I'm dead.

_ I'm dead. _


	2. High School No School Dead School

It takes a while to sink in. I'm actually dead. I did it. I killed myself. I'm not sure if I should feel dread, or morbid satisfaction. I tried enough times, but it seems so weird that I've finally done it. Watching my parents, I begin to feel bad. I turn back to the guy who walked up and thought at me (or whatever you can call our telepathic communication), and frown.

_ So I'm... dead? _

_ It would appear so. _

_ I thought the afterlife would be different. _

_ What, heaven and angels or hell and fire? Sorry to disappoint you, kid, but this is it. You stay on Earth – or an imprint of you does. Welcome to the afterlife. _

I turn away, mildly disturbed by our form of communication and starting to regret the whole 'jumping off a bridge' thing. Especially when I overhear Mom and Dad talking about letting Hazel (that's my sister) know about my death. This is the part I wasn't looking forward to, but I selfishly thought I wouldn't be here to witness it. The crying, the despair, the blaming, the pain that my family is going through now. It's almost worse than living through the hell I'd been enduring.

To distract myself, I start thinking about my school and my classmates. I wonder if any of them will miss me; probably not, as none of them really even knew me. You get shoved into a locker a few times and then you realize that friendship with bullies isn't the most important thing in the world. I did have one friend, a guy named Kyle, and I'll miss him. Hopefully he'll be okay.

Staring at my dead body gets weird after a while, and I've realized that since I'm dead I don't actually cry. I'm just left with an empty feeling, but I have a hunch it won't ever go away. I decide to head over to school to see what's going on. I think I had a test today.

As soon as it's set in my mind that I want to go to school, I blink and I'm standing on the campus. Huh. Perks of being a ghost, I suppose. I walk through the door – which has lost its glamour and is becoming just convenient now – and amble down the halls, fearlessly tucking my hands in the pockets of the jeans I was wearing when I died and finally understanding what it must feel like to walk through crowds of people without worrying about who is going to shove you into a locker. It's a powerful feeling, and I start to smile.

Until I reach Kyle's locker. He is getting his books out and looking lonely, and I am suddenly reminded that he doesn't have many friends. Sure, he has more than me, but they don't really hang out with him at school. I've left him alone, and I feel bad. I feel even worse when he gets called to the front office second period, and I'm at an all time low when I'm standing in the room next to him as they break the news. Half of me is upset when he breaks into tears, and the other half feels weird. Who thinks they'll ever hear their name when someone says 'I hate to tell you this but your friend passed away'?

I'm actually kind of honored when they announce my death over the intercom, and I'm shocked when people begin to cry. I guess no one wants to know the dead kid. Turns out these people have feelings. Who would have thought? I only feel bad about Kyle and the nice girl in my math class who used to let me borrow her pencil. Everyone else can feel bad about themselves, because one of the main reasons why I'm dead right now is them.

I wonder if they even realize it.

I've started to realize the difference between dead people and alive people. Believe me, there are tons of both. The alive ones sort of glow, like some sort of soft aura. Dead people look a little grayish, a little blurry around the edges. Those who have been dead for a long time look like they're going out of focus, their faces fading and parts of them practically see-through. No one talks; everyone just thinks to each other. It works pretty well.

Of course, you're not going around hearing every dead person's thoughts. That would be loud and annoying. It's like talking, but more private. You envision who you want to think to, and then you just think whatever you need to. Only they can hear it. It's quite handy, and I've actually begun to make friends among my fellow ghosts. The first guy I met is named Paul, and he really helps me through the whole "Holy shit I'm dead now what" phase. He explains everything about the new world I live in, and the deal with talking.

I can still talk out loud if I want to. But the loudest I can be is the quietest sound lifers (alive people to us dead ones) can hear, so if I want to be heard I have to practically scream. Paul also tells me that my voice will start to go away if I use it too much, so every ounce of sound I have in me is valuable. Paul lost his voice a while ago, but I haven't had the heart to ask him how long he's been dead, or how he died. Somehow the questions seem insensitive.


	3. On The Other Side

It's funny how the little things can become so small when the big things are gone. Like how I no longer can change my clothes so I'm forever stuck in the plain white t shirt and blue jeans and converse I jumped off that bridge in. I don't go near that bridge anymore.

Because there's not much you can do but wander around and "haunt" various places, we dead people have our own ways of having fun. Making fun of people's death clothes is a favorite. It's awkward when someone who killed themselves in the bath comes along, cos they don't wear anything. They keep to themselves though. I've been told that, as far as suicide kids come along, I'm different. I guess usually the ones who killed themselves go off by themselves because they wanted to get away from the places they're forced to stay. I don't care much. I just wanted to get away from the people, and I feel like I pretty much accomplished that.

Unfortunately, I can't just travel interesting places. Apparently you have to stick around places you're really familiar. I can go practically anywhere around town, down to the beach, and to the cliffs and forest near the coast. Occasionally, if being around lifers gets to be too much I'll walk through the trees until I forget I'm dead. It's hours spent like this that make me miss my old life, when there was blood in my veins and my heart was still beating.

It's times like these when I get to thinking. I have lots of time for it; what else am I going to do? The funny thing is, while I'm out here, walking alone, I can hear my footsteps. I shouldn't be able to, but I can. I surprise myself with how selfish they are. How selfish they were when I was walking to the bridge, and tying the rope, and climbing over, and hanging myself. How foolish are they now, when they are only here for me to hear. What's the use of walking if you're dead?

But here I am, getting ahead of myself. I was talking about clothes. Everyone makes fun of this guy named Clive. He's not the smartest tool in the shed, and he died in these outrageous pajamas from the eighties. I'm not really sure when or how he died, but it was probably really stupid because he's just a walking talking running joke amongst those of us with a sense of humor.

There are some people who don't have a sense of humor, but I'm not really sure how they don't go insane. Maybe they are; that would explain a lot. They just mope around - you can see them coming because everything around them gets darker, greyer, and just all around more dismal. Even when they walk by lifers, the gloom doesn't go away all that much. Behind their backs, some of the dead ones call them goths. I laugh at this every time it comes up.

The worst thing (or maybe not the worst, I could be dramatic) is the lack of music. To hear it, you have to be around a lifer who is listening to it, so it's up to whoever is playing whatever. I find myself gravitating towards the girl I never talked to in school because she was always carrying around a portable speaker and blaring music. Her music taste is a little heavier than mine, but it's nice to hear something, so I don't complain.

Okay, I lied. I complain.

Paul gets sick of me sometimes. I hang around him most of the time since he's the first dead person I met, and for the most part he can tolerate me. He teaches me a lot about the afterlife, or whatever you want to call it. Apparently the longer you're gone, the more impact you can make in the world. This didn't make much sense to me - shouldn't people care more about you right after you die? But he didn't mean it like that, he meant it literally. Once I've been dead a week, I can move leaves if I poke them, and I can wiggle the fabric of the t shirts that hang in my room. My family doesn't go in there, so that's usually where I go if I don't want to remember that I miss them.

After two weeks I can actually move one of the shirts in my closet over if I try really hard and rest for a while afterwards.

By the end of the month, I can open and close my door. I don't do this a whole lot, and only if no one is home or if everyone is asleep. I don't like being home when everyone else is because it's too quiet. Hazel cries herself to sleep most nights as far as I can tell, so I spend most nights haunting the concert venue downtown if anyone good is playing. Or if no one good is playing. At least it's something to do.

After the first month, I'm desperate for things to do.


	4. Life Goes On (For Some of Us)

After the second month, I'm desperate for something, anything to take away the dull ache of boredom and nothingness. I've taken to wandering the halls at school during the day, slamming people's lockers if I don't like them and hiding papers sometimes. The list of people I don't like changes; I stop holding grudges for things that happened while I was alive and start to look at how they treat everyone. It's very interesting sometimes.

After the two month anniversary of my death, I begin to be forgotten. The school has completely moved on, although there are a few people who I can tell still remember and think about me. Home is returning to normal, although my family never goes into my room. The dog likes to sit at my door and scratch, begging me to let her in. It makes me kind of sad sometimes, but the coolest part is she can sense where I am still. Sometimes at night she'll wander to my door and I'll let her in if I'm around, and she'll sleep right next to where I'm sitting on my bed. It's late nights like these when I wish I was still alive the most, but since I'm getting stronger I can actually pet her now.

The most alarming thing about it all is that I can't remember her name. I also can't remember names of neighbors, streets, places, and other various things that used to be such a part of my life. I asked Paul and he said the unimportant things start to fade away.

I didn't talk to him for the rest of the day.

While I was hanging out in the forest, I ran into Hazel. I still remember her name, and I cherish it. I miss her all the time, and she's the biggest reason I feel guilt. I loved her a lot, and it's hard to see her so upset over my death. I know she'll get over it, but it hasn't happened and I don't see it happening any time soon.

Anyway,I ran into her in the forest. Literally. I was just walking, minding my own business and staring at my shoes when I passed through someone. I felt the familiar rush of warm air and stopped, looking up. I had to step back because my face was halfway into her head, but when I looked it was her. She was taller than when I died, almost as tall as me. It scares me to think that I won't ever grow again. I put it behind me.

Hazel has been crying, and she's wearing one of my old sweatshirts. I look closer and she's wearing a shirt of mine as well, some old faded band t that I left in my closet. I smile a bit and watch her, following as she walks out towards the waterfront. She stands over the cliffs, looking out on the water, and I take a deep breath.

"Hazel!" I yell, clearing my throat a bit afterwards. It's been quite a while since I used my voice. She doesn't turn, so I try again. "HAZEL!"

She turns this time, frowning in confusion and looking around. I'm yelling right in her ear, so I scream her name.

"Will...?" She sits down shakily on a rock, eyes searching all around her and tears welling up. I try a new approach and go to the dirt in front of her feet.  _ I miss you _ , I write. Her eyes go wide and then the tears fall, spilling down her face as she reads my message.

"Oh, Will... I miss you too."


	5. You're Killing Me - Oh, Wait

I think the best part about this whole 'dead' thing is that nothing ever changes now. I never get hot or cold, I don't get sick, I don't get hurt, and I don't have to worry about a lot of stuff. The flip side is that the only thing I have left is my emotions and if I wasn't already dead, they'd be killing me.

I'm out by the water, and Hazel is still here. She's been here for a while, just sitting there and looking out to the sea. She knows I'm here, and I think she doesn't want to leave because she thinks she won't be able to find me again. I would tell her I'll always be here but yelling really depleted like all of my energy and all I can do is sit here and stare at her.

The worst part of this is that I can hear all the questions that are bouncing around in her head. They remain unspoken but so loud in my ears and I don't know how to feel about them, let alone how to answer them. The expression on her face is heartbreaking and I find myself longing to see her laugh, to hear her giggle at some story from school. Instead I am slapped in the face with silent  _ Why did you do it? _ s and  _ Please come back _ s.

Hazel shudders and I reach over, using all of my strength to pull the left sleeve of her - my - sweatshirt down. She jumps and then smiles softly, her eyes glossy with tears. She pulls down the other sleeve and finally says something.

"Will, I really miss you. You might not be able to answer me but is there any way for you to come back? I just - I know it's impossible but I pray every single night for this whole thing to be a dream..." she trails off, looking around for me. I pick up a twig - it feels like a fifty pound weight, but I heave it up, and she follows it with her eyes.

Tentatively, she reaches out towards where I am, and her hand passes through my leg that is stretched out next to her. Hazel's eyes widen as she feels the change of temperature, and she waves her hand through it a few more times. I am flooded with warmth by the simple touch and I choke up slightly, missing life now more than ever.

_ I'll always be here for you _ , I scratch out into the dirt. She watches as I write and then nods, trying to speak. She opens her mouth and then shuts it and nods again, sighing and sitting back. We sit there for what seems like eternity, but it begins to get dark and I tug on her sweatshirt.  _ Home _ is the only word I can manage to write, but she nods again and gets up slowly, brushing off her pants and then looking back where I sit before trudging off.

I stay by the cliffs long into the night, and I almost trick myself into falling asleep when Paul walks up and ruins the mood. He just struts up and sits down next to me, right on top of one of the messages I wrote to Hazel.

_ Sorry for pissing you off, _ he says, looking over at me carefully.  _ It's rough being a rookie here. I remember when I first came, and no one explained anything and it was terrifying. I've been here for quite a while _ .

_ But doesn't anyone ever... move on? _ I ask, frowning and kicking at a little plant in front of me. It wiggles slightly.

_ Well... yeah. But you have to completely let go of this life. Which sounds easy, and is anything but. You have to fully say goodbye, and you have to forget everything and be ready to lay your bones to rest. For some reason, I guess you and I haven't gotten there yet.  _ He picks up a small rock and tosses it over the cliff, and we watch it soar down into the surf and get lost in the waves. 

_ I don't know if I want to forget. _


	6. Epilogue

I started to write this a long time ago, and then stopped at last chapter. Now that I’ve reread it, I can’t bring myself to add anything. So it ends, like many things do: abrubtly. Exactly what suicide is. This is my hope and my purpose with this story: to encourage people not to end it all. 

Because what if? What if you die and you’re stuck right where you were, around everyone who misses you? What if you’re forced to watch as everyone who cared about you has to mourn your death, and then slowly forget about you? Is that fair to anyone? 

I guess what I’m trying to say is that we have no idea how the afterlife is going to be, so why not stick above ground to see how life will be until it’s your time rather than sacrificing the possibility of life getting better? 

Quit romanticizing life underground. It’s not what it’s cracked up to be. 


End file.
